What's this sensation?
by Shelly Quills Webster
Summary: When he is awake, Dilandau Albatou is a powerful individual. But once he falls asleep, everything changes and he is forced to confront other sides of himself, and the confusion under it all. He learns that everyone can change. CD.
1. Tensions Rising

"What's this sensation?"

by Shelly Webster

Disclaimer: I do not own Escaflowne or gain anything from writing this. Not even much pleasure. My muses turned evil and made me write this...though it is going better than I expected. Of course, they also say I need a plot that will go past the two chapters I now have planned...

A/N: My muses gave me a line and told me to write a fic for it. This is it. The line isn't even in this chapter, but they were so adamant that I am writing this anyhow. As long as they leave my best character to write for alone though, I will tolerate the change my muses have undergone. I do like this pairing, but I don't think the Dilandau that we see in the series is the type to fall in love. Special thanks to my D, for beta work on a story that has romance.

Summary: When he is awake, Dilandau Albatou is a powerful individual. But once he falls asleep, everything changes and he is forced to confront other sides of himself, and the confusion under it all. He learns that everyone can change. C/D.

Chapter 1

Tensions Rising

She was yelling. Again.

At least it wasn't crying this time. That was just uncomfortable...what is one supposed to do when another cries? He never knew, not that anyone else ever cried around him. Only her. Soldiers had learned not to cry. War leaves no room for tears. Yelling, on the other hand, he understood – yelling he could do. Better than her, as a rule. But with her he had little to yell about, so he gave her the chance to vent when he had nothing to say.

Dilandau tried his best to stay awake and avoid her, but sooner or later he always crashed to find her right before his eyes.

"...I don't see why you won't let me out! I was here first!"

It was always one of two ideas fueling her emotional outbursts: how she was always left all alone, or how he never let her surface instead of him. When they were younger, she was bothered more by being alone, but in more recent years she fought primarily to convince him to free her. Maybe she had realized that she wouldn't have to be so alone if she were free, he had speculated, when calm enough to think clearly about the situation with her. But he wasn't about to let her steal away his life.

Even though he was there on a regular basis, apparently he didn't count as somebody to be around. He wasn't a person to her – just a nuisance roadblock to her use of her body. Was he a person to anyone? That didn't matter. Not right now... He had to try to get her off his back again.

"Maybe because all you ever do is yell and cry. You're useless!" He was yelling, but she always plowed right over this argument from him.

"Haven't I suffered enough? You don't even talk with me most of the time...It's so lonely here. You have friends. I don't! Just once I'd like some time away from here!"

This emotions thing was getting old. Some nights she would shut up and let him get some rest, maybe even talk a little about trivial matters, such as how he dressed – causing growls by teasing him about the "tiara" – _it's called a headdress_ – but he could tell that this was not going to be one of those more calm and peaceful occasions.

He just let her rant most of the time, wearing herself down. Only when she really got to him or he was bored would he answer her at all, though she managed that at least once every time he slept. But then, sometimes it was enjoyable to make her think or push her buttons. Almost like a little game, to test who knew the wrong thing to say and when to say it.

"I have my men. They need me. Out there things aren't what you think they are. Don't assume you're the only one who is ever alone. I don't think you could handle being out there." He was taunting her at this point. He had veered too near his own thoughts and...feelings. An opening he could never let her find. Not that he had feelings, of course, he reassured himself. He couldn't have them. "You're too weak."

Violence never helped against her, so he tried other methods when he had any self-control. He couldn't count how many times he had slapped her, not that he cared to. Various Dragon Slayers had unknowingly taken blows for her more than a few times after he woke feeling so dissatisfied.

"Too weak for what? I put up with _you_ all the time. Can't be so weak if I have to do _that_!" She was trying to anger him, but she wasn't aiming for the right thoughts yet. She rarely did right away. It was like she felt it would take away her fun if she brought things to a point too quickly. He thought this rather pointless. Winning is what matters, not drawing it out and risking it all.

He was silent. He stalked around, wishing he would just wake up and be done with her until the next time sleep stole his mind from him, but he knew he was tired enough that he would sleep for many hours unless someone else woke him, which was more likely. The silent treatment always aggravated her, especially as she had no other distraction but his presence.

"Please! I can't do this! You can't make me anymore. I _will_ go!" She slapped him.

He pulled away, growling. "How dare you slap me! I am Lord Dilandau Albatou –"

"Commander of the Dragon Slayers, I know." She interrupted.

"That's right. But do you remember just what that means?" He took control of the conversation again. "Few cross me. Those that do never have very long to regret it." He pulled himself to his full height, standing over her in what most found a threatening manner.

Celena's eyes flashed with the intensity of her feelings, so strong that he couldn't read them even if he knew what they meant to other people. "And am I to be just like them?" She laughed bitterly. "You won't let me be like others; no one will. If they couldn't kill me, there's no way you can either."

She knew just what buttons to push. He knew that "they" meant the madoushi. Sorcerers, in their long cloaks and with their ghastly faces. They seemed inhuman, but they were real enough. Far too real... She didn't like them either, clearly, but she wasn't afraid of them. Not like he was.

That was another concept Dilandau struggled with every time he faced her and her spiteful words. He wasn't supposed to be afraid. It made him weak – a failure. He hid it, even from himself, most of the time. But she never let him forget it for long.

Sometimes he contemplated the knowledge he lacked. When he was more patient, he would try to learn it, try to understand what emotions were about and how people think, but to no avail. Patience wasn't something he found easily in the first place. He was told the feelings he struggled to understand are instinct – that they come naturally to everyone. He really was no one in that case...but at least he had a purpose. Not everyone did, he could see. Or they would forget what the purpose was.

Before Dilandau could react to her words about the only beings he never wished to meet, he was shook awake by the ever-responsible Gatti. "We are scheduled to practice now, sir."

Dilandau yelled at him, never a morning person, even though he rarely liked sleeping. "Then have the Dragon Slayers go and ready themselves to train. You should know your job by now!"

Gatti left hurriedly, Dilandau taking a few moments for himself before he would join his men. Now that he was awake, Dilandau was wondering for once what would have happened if he were still asleep and talking to the girl hidden in his head. He reflected on his most recent experience with Celena, and her behavior in that interaction. He laughed quietly. _I think I must be rubbing off on her now._ He stroked his cheek where she had slapped him. _She never tried that before...but she does have a good arm._


	2. Taking Prisoners

"What's this sensation?"

by Shelly Webster

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am nothing but a slave to my muses and to school. And the internet. Ok, maybe I should just don a sign that says slave to everything...but it could be worse. I could be slave to everyone or something...

A/N: Sorry if my characters have odd mood-swings. I'm hoping that since Dilandau is rather unpredictable it works if it happens. It comes from me having mood-swings and from writing only a few paragraphs at a time... And now the moment my muses have been waiting for! To the point where it was written out before some parts before it were... But first...

Shouts-outs:

InfamousLordDilandau: You know my muses – they want updates more than I do, it seems like (and I like updates because I know how it is to be a reader waiting for one...). You stroke my ego so much...sometimes I wonder if I'm blind because you seem to see so much talent in me.

LadyThompson: Gah! You ask much...I don't know that I'll improve. And now I'm concerned that I won't... I'll write, and what is written is written, pretty much. My thoughts on Dilandau and fighting are that fighting is fighting. He likes it, but he figures he can have a fight whenever he wants, pretty much.

Sakura Shinguji-Albatou: Do I have another loyal reader/reviewer then? I saw that you reviewed my other story too...if not, ok, glad you reviewed though. And if you are one, whoopee! I had no idea that this story was cute...well, ok, a little, but I thought most of it was not in the first chapter. You're right, I knew headdress was not much better, but I wasn't thinking enough to mark it so I'd remember to find something better. Now I have a thesaurus on my computer, though, so that should make this more convenient in the future. Diadem was the word I had in mind...

Threshie: I hope you're not disappointed with the pace of this...the muses made me do it! run away! Think about it though, if someone was in your head, would you be upset? I mean, I don't like knowing me always, so why would I want someone close enough to possibly know me that well? Or to never be alone? I love being alone sometimes. I'm a C/D sap though, even when it's completely OOC.

Chapter 2

Taking Prisoners

That night Dilandau went to bed willingly. He didn't even finish drinking his usual nighttime bottle of wine beforehand. He tried to tell himself that it was only because he was so exhausted, but he knew it was more because he was curious what his next meeting with her would be like. Would things pick up where they left off? Did he even want them to? She often said she always hated how he left with no warning when others woke him. Maybe she would yell at him for that again...

He had thought about her actions and words much that day, while practicing drills and directing his soldiers on how to improve their fighting abilities. He contemplated their past – the times she smiled and the times she yelled; her eyes shining with falling tears or flashing in anger; how he told her about the Dragon Slayers and she shared of her family.

He was shocked to realize they had known each other a long time. He never thought about time relating to her other than in terms of minutes and hours delaying meeting with her or being stuck with her. He never thought of her as a part of his life, but she was.

She confused him so much. She wasn't a soldier and was so unlike his Dragon Slayers or any other personnel on the Vione. But she wasn't as weak as he told her she was. She just had a different kind of strength. He had to be stronger than her though, had to make sure that she believed he was the stronger entity. It was his job – necessary for his purpose.

Now that he wanted sleep, it was eluding him. He fidgeted as he lay, tapping his toes on the mattress while he lay awake. He curled on one side, then the other, then tried laying flat on his back. Finally, his unlikely energy wore away enough that he drifted into her zone.

She stood there, several paces further away than when he left. She wasn't facing him until after he stood there a moment. She turned, a distant look in her eyes until she focused on him. For the first time, he wondered just what it was that she did when he was awake and she really was all alone.

Before she could begin berating him for some slight or other, he asked her this.

She stood there, frozen with shock. He never addressed her first, even with harsh words after a bad day. He _always_ ignored her as long as he could, or at least gave her that impression.

"Well?" He was getting impatient for her answer.

She finally thought about the question instead of the fact that he had asked something of her. He wasn't picking a fight, so she wouldn't either. Not yet, anyway. "I tell myself little stories. I wonder about the people I knew before..." She trailed off.

He had an answer from Celena, but it didn't make him happy. Her life held nothing that his did, none of the things he found pleasure and satisfaction in. "I know that you think about my stunning good looks all the time. No need to be ashamed." he smirked, not knowing what was a proper answer, an answer that could comfort her. He didn't even have ideas for what else she could do. It was easier to just let things return to their usual state of fighting and high emotions from her. A passionately angry reaction was better than her crying or something. What if there was something worse than crying?

His words had the desired effect, turning her away from the more intimate thoughts of her life that he had caused in her.

She turned on him, bothered that he so easily went from his friendly curiosity to a smart remark, though not so shocked that he was his usual self again.

"Even if I did think about you, I'd think more about how unkind and cruel you are than about whether or not you're attractive. And in case you're wondering, you're the least attractive man I've ever seen!"

Dilandau was hurt, and that was even without recalling how few men she had seen. "Least attractive?" he shrieked, "_Least attractive!_ Are you blind? I'm the fucking Adonis of Zaibach and all of Gaia. No one is more handsome than I am. No one!"

"My brother is probably much more handsome than you by now! And even if he's not, he's much nicer, I'm sure. Attraction is more than good looks, you know. And your personality cancels anything gained by your looks, and more."

Dilandau was jealous. _She hates me. She thinks I'm the most horrid person ever. I probably am... I mean, she said..._ A smirk stretched across his face as realization dawned. "You just admitted that I'm good looking." The smirk widened.

A look of horror crossed Celena's face at his words. "No I didn't. I said nothing of the sort. Now leave me alone!"

He drew nearer to her instead. "Why should I?" he purred.

She backed away from him, uneasy about the new side of him currently displayed.

"B-because that's what you always want to do." She still backed away and he still strode towards her, his pace matching hers deliberately and smoothly.

"Maybe not always," he proposed.

"Anyhow, I wouldn't know if you are good looking or not. If you'd let me, I could find out, though; make a few comparisons." She cocked an eyebrow, daring him to let her have her way as she shifted the conversation to its typical realm.

"No."

Dilandau preferred a simple answer this time. He wasn't angry at the moment, so he had nothing to get in the way of what he judged right to say to her.

"You are so infuriating! All I ever ask is one thing, and yet not once have you let me have it. Not once! Could you even be any more selfish and pigheaded?"

Now he was getting angry. Selfish? Pigheaded? He did this for his men more than for himself. His soldiers needed a military leader, not a cheerleader. And at least he wasn't wishy-washy. Would she rather he teased her by saying he'd let her out then not allowing it? She never bothered to understand anything he ever did...

"And you're not selfish or pigheaded?" He countered with her accusations.

She stumbled, not answering immediately, then recovered her battle-readiness. "Well, I'm certainly not you or anything like you."

"You do lack the perfection. And many of my skills."

"Like your arrogance? I miss that _so_ much in my own life." He never liked her sarcasm.

"Are you doubting me? You haven't seen me in battle, so don't judge so fast." His pursuit of her was more of an angry stalk now. He would show her...someday, somehow. He might be nobody to her now, but that didn't mean he had no abilities.

"I don't need to see you in battle. No one can be as skilled as you claim to be."

She was nearing the wall, but hadn't noticed yet. When she did, it would be too late to turn and get away.

"I am more skilled than you could ever understand!"

"Oh really? Sometimes I wonder if you even know how to hold a sword."

She was inches from the wall and he was within arm's reach. He put a hand on either side of her shoulders. "I may not be able to prove to you that I can handle a damn sword, but even you'll have to admit that I'm capable of taking prisoners."

She tried to duck under his arms, but he anticipated her moves and she stayed enclosed by his limbs.

She shrugged in defeat. His smirk widened. As it did so, she opened her mouth once more. "It's not so special to capture someone who is already your prisoner."

He scowled. She did this on purpose – letting him think he had won.

"Brave words for someone as closely confined as yourself." He had to think, but he couldn't. Right now he couldn't focus anywhere near as well as he usually could. This was all her fault... He scowled again, taking a step closer, now only a few centimeters from touching her.

He could hear her breathing, heavy and panicked, though her face did not show much alarm. He could feel the warmth of her so near to him, like her blood was boiling magma. Her hands were balled into fists held close to her sides.

She spoke at last.

"This from the king of the cowards! I'm not a soldier, it's not my job to be brave."

He growled faintly. "So, I'm the king of cowards then. Few would call me a coward. At least I'm royalty. You, on the other hand, are rude enough to be only the lowest of slaves."

Her tongue held a sassy remark, as usual. "Better to be the lowest of slaves than to bow before you. You do have the tiara to be royalty, but I bet you're a king without a–"

He leaned in, cutting off the words from her offending lips with his own in a rough, punishing kiss. Seemingly of their own accord, his arms moved from trapped her against the wall to holding her shoulders, pulling her against him.

After a shocked, intense moment, she struggled away from his mouth.

"What the hell was that about? How dare you!"

"Perhaps I'm not so cowardly after all!" His mouth said these words, but his thoughts nowhere near echoed them. Inside, he was even more panicked than she was. _Why did I do that? I have got to get away...get my thoughts together. Keep it cool. Don't let her see that you want to run._ With that, his arms dropped back to his sides and he strutted a few steps away from her.

She was angry; probably confused too. "You had no right to do that!"

"You wouldn't stop arguing." He gave the only explanation that came to mind. It was better than admitting that he wasn't sure how that had just happened.

"Rrrrrrr! Just leave me alone!"

Normally he would put up a fight, but as this was what he wanted, he didn't bother this time. "Whatever. But if you're so upset, what took you so long to pull away?" He threw that remark at her over his shoulder. It was a question he wondered about the answer to, but he couldn't find one, so instead he tried to settle down to get some rest as long as he was asleep. The last real thoughts he had were these: _It's a diadem, not a tiara... What was I doing tonight?_


	3. Perfection as a way of Life

"What's this sensation?"

by Shelly Webster

Disclaimer: I don't own Escaflowne, but I do own some very nice ideas, occasionally very philosophical thoughts even. Now if only I could eat them or use them as currencyâ Ehhâin a perfect (or more open and thought-centric) world. I also own some nice paper, several charming pens and a handwriting style only a doctor's mother could love.

A/N: Thanks to my D for being an eternally charming and friendly beta, my muses for deciding I had suffered too much lately and giving me this chapter with no prying (to the point where they gave me it when I was away from my computer so I had to type it from notes), and Breakfast King. I wrote most of this while at a midnight breakfast there and it was pretty nice. I never knew that such a place could inspire me so. It even gave me a plot for the rest of the story! Expect to be shocked and horrified in the next chapter! Just ask D. She wasn't expecting what will happen even, when I asked her opinion on the plot the muses brought to me. Oh, and don't kill me unless you're not satisfied after chapter 5.

Warning: Some moreâadult themes shown. Not sexual, but certainly not happy kiddie stuff. Don't hurt me! I just obey the muses!

Shouts-outs:

Infinitis: Your wish was my command. I started this chapter as soon as I finished the last and wrote on nothing else until it was finished.

Ryuko-chan: Two reviews! Well, you know me. I wouldn't bother writing it if it was like everything else I read. There was no dreamsex. Yet, anyway (still don't know if there will be). Dream arousal, yes, but I decided not to go into it. He is always ever so arrogant and such a smartass that he had to comment on his own good-looks. And as you will read, no clue about Allen.

Sakura Shinguji-Albatou: Woo! I'm on someone's list, and it's not a hit-list. But I don't know if you'll like where this fic is headed

Threshie: Sorry to have misunderstood. I've read a few too many Harlequin romance novels (The shame! The horror!) and even a couple lately. In them, one cue that people will end up together is that they fight. A lot. And think/say they hate each other. I forgot that it's not always that way in the world of fan-fiction. I'm not certain how the mind thing works. I knew there was a wall, a white wall, but you know characters: you have to pry for explanations. It's not exactly another dimension, I know that. It's more like the mind is not a physical environment, but because people are accustomed to the physical world, he (and she) perceives it as a physical place when he dreams. Or at least, that's how I understand what they have said. Glad you're on the forum! D and I both think you're a joy to have there and look forward to the days when you will post more.

Chapter 3

Perfection as a way of Life

She glared at him.

He had no answer for the question she had just asked. He had been too tired – too busy resting for once, his energy too far gone to keep him focused even in her realm – to figure out whatever would have possessed him to make him _kiss_ her like that. Even the thought of doing so made his stomach turn and flip-flop. It was _clearly_ a repulsive concept.

When within his mind with her, he was technically asleep, but still thinking. However, he could go even deeper and his mind would sleep too. This was what he had been doing.

So he merely stood before her, silent and brooding.

He was good at brooding.

The glare went unchanged, as did his own lack of response. It was a battle to see who could keep silent longer, him not answering her question, her glaring as she waited for that answer.

_She's not used to glaring. She'll have to cave soon._ He certainly hoped this was true. He could never admit that he didn't know why he took the actions he had, whatever the actions may have been. Especially admitting this to her. It would be a sign of weaknessâ _How can I be so weak in everything?_ It was starting to seem like all he did was hide weaknesses from one person or another.

A long while passed and still she glared. She had taken him from the rest his body and mind told him he needed with this fucking question, and now that he was coming more aware, he was very outraged by this. _Where did she get off disturbing me like that?_

He couldn't hold his tongue any longer, and didn't want to try anyhow. Not with someone like her, someone who pushed him to such extremes.

"A king can do what he pleases to and with his slaves, especially the lowest of them. Now off with ye." He waved her away, laying back down with his eyes shutting before he hit the ground. He would ignore her until he woke up – _no matter what_!

Inwardly he smirked, detecting the subtle clues which indicated that she was so outraged at his words that she could do nothing but stand there sputtering. He supposed she didn't realize he could hear her, but as a soldier, he was used to listening closely.

He thought as he lay. _Hey, maybe that is what it was – a subconscious decision to have a display of power – show her once again who's the boss._ It didn't feel particularly true, but it seemed as likely as anything else he had thought of – including being possessed by Van Fanel through that freaky girl the "king" kept making eyes at. _Hey, it could happen! She's pretty freaky._

Celena ceased her sputtering, sounding a loud "humph!" as she turned on her heel and stalked away. He knew she did this because he peeked through his silvered lashes. He only did it to be sure she would leave him alone, he assured himself.

_After all, she is always so damned annoying. Those long lashes framing big blue eyes begging for companionship – with anyone but me. Her lips pouting in a plea for freedom from me. _ He groaned. Better not to think about her at all.

He felt like he was being watched, but he wasn't about to look at her again. He wouldn't allow her the satisfaction of knowing he was aware she was near.

Letting himself fall asleep had been a huge mistake.

Dilandau almost gave serious consideration to asking Folken if he could provide something to keep him awake and aware, but it would give the interfering, controlling man knowledge of what might be a weakness and another reason to interfere with his routines and his warriors. Folken found enough such reasons on his own, none making much sense to Dilandau.

Another objection to asking this favor, Folken would see that the commander of the Dragon Slayers apparently couldn't do everything for himself. Just because he wasn't about to read some fucking book to find out what he could try didn't mean he couldn't do it. He just had better things to do with his time.

Besides, it was the fucking _Strategos_! _He is just one step away fromâ _Dilandau shuddered.

And Lord Dilandau Albatou, commander of the Dragon Slayers, asked no favors of anyone.

Finally Dilandau felt himself start to fade away from this mental torture chamber back into the waking world, leaving thoughts of Celena and Folken behind, for the time-being.

His night's rest left him energized, but in a more foul mood than any of his men had seen before. He was scowling before he was fully awake. _My Dragon Slayers had better be prepared for intense practice today._ He almost smirked at the thought. _I'm back!_

Dilandau opted for strenuous combat exercises, running mock battle scenarios that they had tested in the past at an easier pace. He appointed as many as three Dragon Slayers at a time to fight against him, this activity intended to benefit him more than his soldiers.

He swung his sword, sweat streaming down his brow, detracting nothing from the fierce grin his mouth instinctively had formed.

When he was as exhausted as he had been lately, he didn't feel the thrill of battle quite as well as he otherwise did. He just couldn't fight as aggressively, the aggressive action being the aspect of his fights that his extreme pleasure came from. He avoided thinking about this, or anything else.

Dilandau was too wrapped up in ecstasy to let himself be troubled with his knowledge that he would not find this bliss again for a very long while. He wouldn't be rested because rest meant _her_ and she gave him no peace; no ability to rest.

_Thrust. Parry. Look behind myself. Up. Down._ He thought about the moves, barely noticing the thoughts as his actions echoed them.

His sword had become, in his mind, an extension of himself. It wasn't part of him like his Alseides, but part of him it was.

The focused commander fought viciously until he and his soldiers could scarcely lift their swords. Even then, the only reason he stopped was because the mess hall had rung the signal for supper and he had forced his men to miss their midday meal. Keeping them longer would only get him in trouble – trouble where he wasn't allowed any physical training with the Dragon Slayers for several days.

Medical had flipped out the last time he tried it. And they had flipped out every other time, he admitted to himself, but the last time their reaction was even more strong than usual.

He had _just_ been giving them a real life experience of what hand-to-hand and sword combat on the field might be like during a long-lasting battle. It was a good, useful bit of knowledge for them! It wasn't _his_ fault they were apparently "too weak." So what if they were a little dehydrated too? Battles _are_ like thatâor at least, they could be.

He scowled thinking about this as he trekked his way to his own quarters to brood in the solitude and silence found therein. Once he walked through the door, he stripped to the waist, more comfortable that way. _This room is so bare_ He had never really decorated, but it belonged to him and no one else, and that was the part that really mattered to him.

Someday he would make Medical understand that he knew what the hell he was doing. Soldiers are not meant to be mollycoddled. _ People won't go easy on each other in the battlefield. That's not what war is about!_

He pictured the battle Medical seemed to think his men fought in, thinking of Allen Schezar and his billowy shirt, just the sort of man who looked to be exceedingly politeâ "Good sir, would you care to join me for a quick repast of hardtack and stale water? Or perhaps you'd care to nap in the midday heat?"

Now that he was thinking about it, there was something almost familiar to the knight. Dilandau couldn't place it, though, and decided it wasn't significant.

If all these men have joined the military, they know the road ahead of them might be tough. It ought to be tough, or it's not really worth much. This was even more true for his Dragon Slayers. They had to work twice as long, twice as hard – they had to be perfect. Nothing less was acceptable – nothing.

Perfection was more than an idle hope in Dilandau's eyes; it was a reality that he worked for endlessly with the same aggression found in all his other actions. If he could not achieve perfection in something, he felt it would prove him incompetent and undeserving to live.

He hid what flaws he could see. He knew he was on the brink of deserving to live, but felt he was still close enough to perfection, at least in his career, to keep working at it.

He sighed.

It was so difficult being the best of the best and still having to cope with everything else, especially the balance between leading a military team and his own personal life.

He drained his bottle of wine and slammed the empty container down on the table. He couldn't remember getting out the wine; he was so accustomed to it that it was automatic.

_Why does everything have to be so complicated?_ So many things to think about, but all he wanted to do was forget. Thinking about them was too hard. He knew he ought to eat something, but really, the thought of no food was able to tempt him or appeal.

He smirked at his thoughts. _Best of the best. Even if my men have to eat and sleep to fight well, I'm better and I don't._

The young man unsheathed his favorite dagger, toying with it idly. He ran the tip along the underside of his arm gently – almost absent-minded, yet very controlled. He traced out the blood vessels on his arm with the blade. He didn't mean anything by it. He never did – the times when he would mean it, Dilandau was already strapped down, so the dagger wouldn't do him any good.

Unexpectedly, someone pounded on his door.

He jerked, startled, and suddenly now the knife wasn't teasing his skin, but piercing it and the vein, blood spurting powerfully.

He gasped. _Not perfect._

Dilandau vaguely heard the pounding once more. He dropped the knife; it clattered harshly on the floor.

The youth grasped his forearm. A part of him was fascinated with the sight of blood, even though it was his own this time. Another part knew he was supposed to staunch the blood-flow. He made no effort to do so, unsure of how to stop the vibrant crimson liquid. The part of him which was slowly becoming dominant was actually more of a numb haze.

The pounding faded into the cloudy white as he slipped unconscious.


	4. The Truth Behind Emotion

"What's this sensation?"

by Shelly Webster

Disclaimer: I own this plot. I think. I've sure never read anything like it. I own...well, in this story, I own nothing, at least not yet.

A/N: I had to force my muses to save this chapter until they wrote more of the next chapter of Determined Protector. There were whips, bruises, and many beatings involved – not a pretty sight. They wanted me to get this and the next chapter out immediately after the last one. Thanks once again to my D. Sorry to traumatize her with where this plot heads. I think ambiguity is my new best friend. It made this chapter write itself! But sometimes it is so hard to be vague...Oh, I want reviews if people want the next chapter. Keep in mind, it is ready to post at a moment's notice, already betaed.

Shouts-outs:

Infinitis: Do you know of anywhere to find good C/D fics? hopes against hope I didn't want him hurt (my best and most used character is a doctor that things of Dil as a son) but he just tells me what happens.

Sakura Shinguji-Albatou: I never thought of Dil as the self-mutilating type – too vain and determined to be flawless. Yeah, you'll see where this goes. I don't know why no one uses the term mollycoddle. It's so useful, especially for fics like this.

Chapter 4

The Truth Behind Emotion

They stood, quietly discussing the results of their first attempt.

"He is gone again."

"But he is likely to come back."

"Perhaps."

"If he permits himself to."

"He might not wish to."

They paused, then switched the topic, somehow all understanding this was going on.

"This was nothing like last time."

"But last time involved the two."

"This is true."

"Sometimes it is best to only involve one. Fewer risks."

"If one understands the parties involved."

"Which we do."

The five all knew this, but sometimes it was best to state anyhow.

"And the environment was greatly differing last time."

"There was less anger."

"There was a weaker relationship at that time."

The cloaked men remained there, pondering what was said.

"And the girl?"

"Unaffected as of now, to the best of our knowledge."

"Unaffected by this, anyhow."

"Is it best that way?"

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps not."

"What should be done?"

They gave this question deep contemplation, as well as the level of interference they would pursue with the young pair.

"Perhaps we ought to wait."

"Wait?"

"Yes..."

"It is too soon to tell where this will go."

"Or where we wish this to go."

"Perhaps that is best..."

The mute one nodded after a few tense moments. It was decided – they would wait.

"How long ought we wait?"

"Several moons. Perhaps with him injured she will interfere."

"She might interfere positively or negatively..."

"She knows she is stuck with him either way."

"This is true."

"She is more aware."

"She can sense that we bound them together."

"Yes."

"We shall see what she does."

"And if she does nothing?"

"She will not do nothing."

"We cannot know that as of yet."

"She will take action."

"She must."

"She will if only for the change."

"Yes."

"She is idle too much."

"But there is no alternative."

"She grows stronger."

"Not strong enough yet."

"She does not know her strength."

"She cannot."

"Unless he tells her."

"He won't."

"Unless he feels he failed."

"This is very unlike the previous time."

"When the Strategos was involved."

"The last time they were both already attracted."

"But their reactions this time..."

"The other Schezar was better mannered."

"The other Schezar does not live with _him_."

"Yes."

"The other experiment."

"The one that lived."

"He has done well..."

"...But it needed more."

"It always does."

They all nodded. Some experiments seemed to have no end.

"Even with this new experiment on him, something seems wrong."

"Perhaps not wrong. Just...not right."

"There is a factor...we had not seen."

"That we still have not seen."

The mute member of their collective listened. He seemed to have no comment on this.

"Will this still work?"

"It should."

"Just give it time."

"Time is our best tool."

"It has failed us in the past."

"It still is best, at least in this."

The silent one nodded as he had earlier. They were of accord.

"The injury will show us what we must do."

"Perhaps she will find sympathy."

"Or perhaps she will spit in his face. She has gained some of his temperament."

"...But her nature is gentle."

"We shall see."

They all nodded in agreement.

"She did not resist the kiss."

"She did not know what was happening."

"He did not resist either."

"He could not."

"We had control."

"Seven moons, then we shall see what needs to be done."

They nodded once more, then the madoushi returned to another experiment.

A/N: Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about Dil or his injury.


	5. The Value and Price of Perfection

"What's This Sensation?"

by Shelly Webster

Disclaimer: I do not own Escaflowne. I do not own Escaflowne. **Look! Godzilla!** snatches ownership papers, only to have them snatched right back I do not own Escaflowne...

A/N: Stupid muses...they went all sappy for this one. And I let them...ok, maybe I even encouraged them. But...my excuse is that I had to make up for the evils of the last chapter. Madoushi kissing. Maybe not the most obvious path...

Shout-outs:

Infinitis: Short, long, ehh...I have a hard time with long. It just stops after a few pages with me, ya know? I have liked C/D since I first read them...but that's only since probably April.

LadyThompson: You read it, mon petit! The evil muses are...they have talent, I'll give them that. You were not supposed to be able to keep up with the sorcerers. I had to rewrite bits so you wouldn't...Oh, and yes, you could keep me up until dawn arguing about my abilities, but there are better things to do when one stays up so late...

Sakura Shinguji-Albatou: I am glad Another Tear made you want to cry. That was sort of its goal, because it's about crying being a feeling, not just tears. And I cheated for claret, using a thesaurus.

Threshie: Thanks for the advice on injuries. I think it was more shock than actual bloodloss which made him lose consciousness. I know it was redundant with the madoushi and, well, dull but exciting. That was the goal: to say nothing while saying everything.

Chapter 5

The Value and Price of Perfection

After the pounding and the white haze, the next thing Dilandau knew was her kneeling at his side, gently shaking him awake. "Are you alright?"

He was confused.

"Celena? But...you're not real. How did you get here?"

She smiled, but a look of concern remained on her face. "You really are lost, soldier. _You_ came to _me_, not the other way around."

He looked down to his arm. His fair complexion was even purer than usual – too blanched and sallow to mean anything good. _I...I cut myself. Fuck. I. Cut. My. Self._ Even here, the wound showed, though the blood was not evident.

She seemed to have a long strip of cloth. She reached for the arm. _A bandage can't change the past._ He made no movement, either to help or hinder her. He knew it wouldn't matter.

He felt her struggle with the limb, but his eyes were firmly closed.

When she gave an exasperated sigh, he spoke. "It's not like it makes a difference."

"Why not?" _Huh? She doesn't care...Why does she sound concerned?_

"Because."

After a long silence, he sighed. "Because I'll die in the end anyway. At least this way I saw it coming." Dilandau's feelings were far more complex than this, but he was too tired and empty to explain further.

"But..." _She doesn't have an answer either. No one does._ "Everyone dies. But you don't see them curled up and letting it happen like this."

..._Or maybe she does. But that doesn't mean she's right._

"I am not curled up." It was a weak point, but fact, nonetheless.

"Does that matter?"

"Does anything matter?"

"Most people seem to think so."

"Like what? What is supposed to matter to me?"

He watched her think. She was taking a lock of the blond hair and drawing it to her mouth, teasing the end of it over her lips absent-mindedly.

"...Family. Friends. Your men. The war, I suppose...Most people say love is worth just about anything."

"Love?" His laugh showed disbelief. "I don't think it exists. Certainly not for me. I'm not allowed to love."

"What? But...everyone loves."

"No. Everyone hates." He knew this. Enough people hated him...

"I don't."

"You're supposed to hate me. You should want me dead." His eyes opened once more, trying to pry into her and understand this.

She didn't answer right away. "But that doesn't mean I do. And definitely not like this."

"Not like what? Flawed? Because it's a bit too late for that one." He chuckled bitterly. He was a screw-up and now life was fixing the problem for him. It fit. In fact, now it seemed the only just way for it all to end – the fatal flaw.

"Flawed?" She laughed lightly. "Everyone is flawed, my caballero."

"Then everyone should be gone. We're supposed to be perfect..._I'm_ supposed to be perfect." His voice was cracking.

"But...perfection isn't real. You are...I think, anyway." She paused, sounding confused. "Flawed beings are real. We just try our best to move on from the flaws and to learn from them." She smiled.

"I don't think I have that."

"Have what?"

"The ability to learn, dumbass."

"You can be so rude!" She was clearly not happy about the name-calling, but it was like she finally understood that this was just the way he is and not a choice he made. Her voice was gentler in her reprimand than he was accustomed to.

"I know." He smirked. _This isn't so terrible, being with her. Maybe we should have quit with the fighting before...before this._

She was smiling at him again. This smile...it was different. Something in her eyes..._Sometimes I just wish I had some idea what she's thinking._ He wasn't sure if he liked this smile. It was making his insides do flip-flops and form knots again, but now he wasn't so sure this was a bad idea.

_I wonder what she'd do if I kissed her again?_ He squashed that thought. _She is not a friend and certainly not anything like that either!_

The smile grew even prettier. _Oh gods. What if she saw what I was thinking? That would be so embarrassing. Wait...there's no way she could see what I'm thinking. Is there?_ He felt his already pale cheeks go even lighter at the thought.

"Can I have your arm now?" The anxious look was back in her eyes. He didn't like it there. It didn't feel right, especially that she was worried about him so much. No one was supposed to worry about him. It never happened before...

He lifted the arm a little, allowing her to bandage it, but trying to hide this fact. He could feel that he was failing at concealing his aid.

"Thank you." _How can her voice be so soft? _He saw a relieved smile as she tucked the end of the bandage in so it would not unravel.

"Why did you help me? Why were you so worried?" He didn't mean to ask the questions, but they popped out. _Stupid mouth! _He mentally cursed himself and quickly turned away from her, unsure if he wanted her answers, or if he would ever be ready for them.

He felt her hand turning his chin back towards her. After some resistance he let her do this.

Once their eyes were linked, she spoke. "I helped you because you needed help. And...because without you, I'd be all alone. I don't want to be all alone." He felt guilty for the moments when he was willing to let that happen and for how he had to leave her alone so much. He vowed to let himself sleep again...if he got through this. He still wasn't sure what had happened.

He saw tears in her eyes, and reached up a hand to brush them away. She blushed, but let him do so. "I know, I'm just a silly girl."

She was laughing again, but a laughter that he felt was only trying to hide sadness.

"No..."

"Are you going to be okay?" He accepted her quick change of topic.

"I don't know..." He sat upright, only to feel a serious wave of dizziness. He let himself lie back down.

"What...what happened?" He didn't want to answer. He suspected that she knew this, but she had asked anyhow.

He kept silent, but she really was getting good at forcing him to answer her. "I cut myself."

"What? You cut yourself? Why?"

_I'm making her worry again...Damnit! I'm not supposed to do that!_ "I didn't mean to, okay? It just happened."

"Just happened? Like you suddenly just happened to start feeling you're nothing? Bullshit!"

He had never heard her actually swear before, but he knew she heard the words from him often enough. She wasn't using them so much from anger but...something else, by her tone. But she just didn't understand any of what he said or any of what he felt.

"You're the one that always complains about being all alone all the time. Well guess what, lady love, if I was here to hear it and you were alone, doesn't that mean I am nothing?" He wasn't paying attention to what he was saying, just the vast amounts of _feeling_ backing it all up.

"Is that what you think? That I have decided you're nothing? Well, I don't go around helping nothings, so maybe next time it happens that you cut yourself, maybe I'll just not happen to help you out after all!" She was crying again. Because of him. Again.

He groaned. "I should have known you're just like everyone else."

"Who?"

"Everyone. Like I said. No one else helps me. Never has, probably never will." He ignored the fact that right now he had no idea if anything was going on with his physical body.

"But...But why?"

He shook his head, a look of apathy in his eyes. "I don't know. It's just the way things are."

"I never meant for you to think I felt you are nothing. I was just upset."

"I know." Dilandau didn't smirk this time.

"What happened then? Cutting yourself."

He took a breath, explaining it to her. "I was just...I wasn't expecting to be disturbed." As he told his story, he realized that like when he had been awake, he had no shirt on. _Am I too skinny?_ He decided not to dwell on that – it was too late to do anything about it anyhow. She had already seen his chest now, so if he was too thin, she would know whether he covered it or not.

"Do you think out there it's getting worked out?" _'Out there'...it really is like our own little world here._ He was amused by this. His own world, just the two of them.

He bit his lip after her question registered. "I can't tell. And...I don't know if I want to yet." He hated admitting that to her, but she didn't seem to be bothered by the idea that he was apparently afraid to find this out.

He wasn't sure what to say now, and she wasn't speaking either. He almost apologized for the other night...but Lord Dilandau Albatou never apologized. He figured she understood that, and that perhaps, just perhaps, she would know he meant it anyhow.

This silence was something new. Now she seemed uncomfortable about something. He smiled when he noted this.

"Look...about the other day...I think I said a lot of things I didn't mean." He could see that she meant this, but also that she was saying it just to be saying something.

Celena was still kneeling by his side, after all this time.

He leaned up and kissed her of his own volition, this time a gentle kiss, though still with some firmness to it. _That's what I've been meaning to do!_ Before Dilandau was thinking enough to worry that she'd be upset once more at his indecorous behavior, he realized that she was returning his kiss – that she had an arm around him in case he felt weak again.

Knowing this made him feel stronger.

Finally they broke apart and she eased him back to the floor.

"Wow." Her quiet awe-filled voice and the blush covering her cheeks showed him that she had enjoyed his kiss and that maybe he was not the screw-up he had earlier suspected himself of being.

He nodded. "Wow." He reached for her and pulled her down against his chest, just holding her. His right arm was snug around her waist, the other hand stroking her hair.

Dilandau smiled.


End file.
